FringeNYC 2004 Reviews - Page 16

Ashvatthama
reviewed by David Fuller

Epic Actors’ Workshop presents Ashvatthama by Manoj Mitra at the Connelly Theater. Performed in Bengali with English supertitles, it is based on the Hindu epic poem, Mahabharatha. It explores the horrors of war and the devastation wrought when sides are embroiled in a cycle of retaliation and revenge. It is certainly not a new topic, but it is a subject of considerable timeliness, and it is capably executed by four talented actors.

In order to understand the theatre piece, it is important to read the synopsis of events labeled “Prologue” in the program. Mahabharatha is a complex epic and, according to the press release, is often called the “Iliad of India.” The play takes place at a very specific point in time and the exposition is most necessary. Ashvatthama is the only surviving warrior in a battle between two rival factions of the same family who are warring over the rule of North India in about 3000 B.C. When the play begins, he has just returned from a devastating defeat and expects to have to surrender. He then concocts a scheme of deception to murder the enemy generals while they are sleeping. This dishonorable act, executed offstage, has a devastating outcome.

Reminiscent of many of the classic Greek dramas, the main events occur offstage and the onstage time is spent mostly in dialogue about prior events or in contemplation of future deeds. During these dialogues, the acting is very focused and heartfelt. One actor in particular is astounding in his emotional honesty: Mahmood Hoshen Dulu who plays Kripacharya, the Brahmin counselor and conscience of the army. I really thought I was seeing into his soul through the extraordinary window of his expressive eyes.

It was difficult to keep track of the dialogue because of the constant shift in focus from the stage to the supertitles. But since the acting was well done, I could get a good sense of the story from the emotional context. I do think, however, that there is too much dialogue. Even not understanding Bengali, it seemed that there was redundancy. I think the play would work better at one hour than at ninety minutes.

The subject matter is one we must keep coming back to, as we humans seem not to be learning our lessons about the agonies of war. It was disheartening to see so small a crowd in attendance. The Epic Actors’ Workshop is producing vital theater. I encourage them to produce in English as well as Bengali, perhaps even a mixture of the two—their audience would certainly expand accordingly.

Chekhov on the Wing
reviewed by Stephen Graybill

Chekhov on the Wing is a one-man musical theatre piece, conceived and compiled by Dayle Vander Sande (who also performs it) and Vicki Hirsch (who directs). It consists of the English-language soliloquy opera A Water Bird Talk (music by Dominick Argento, based on Chekhov's short play The Harmfulness of Tobacco) on one side of the stage, and a reading of Chekhov’s private letters and writings on the other—both performed by the same man… at separate times, of course.

According to their pamphlet, by alternating between the two characters and following the two arcs of the men, we will infer a sort of "parallel universe" between Chekhov the man and a character of Chekhov’s design. This is, perhaps, too daunting an artistic quest for Fish ‘n Birds Productions, I think. In a purely academic sense they might have accomplished their goal; but as an audience member, I completely missed whatever they were trying to accomplish—even though I had prepared myself with their breakdown before-hand.

Vander Sande certainly has a beautiful voice. However, his ability as an actor is lacking. He seemed to be talking at me, rather than including me in his pointless rants. Therefore I was unable to follow either character's journey—or even think about comparing them, as they recommend in their reading. Hirsch's direction provides scant help. Vander Sande’s movements do not aid in the presentation of the material, and further confuse his characters' motivations and intentions.

But the material itself also presents problems. In music, dissonance is a clashing or unresolved musical interval or chord; simply put, an uncomfortable moment within the song. That is the closest possible idea of a musical term that I can put into words to describe what I heard in Argento's work. However, this was not a moment, but a complete experience of dissonance so grand that I was incapable of following the story and whatever larger artistic idea, or arc, may have been intended.

Chekhov’s literary genius does not come from his letters, wherein he spews out personal rantings about things that don’t correlate, as we all do in personal journals. These writings don't work well in a theatrical context.

This play is HIGHLY intellectual and very smart in its compilation. However, I believe Vander Sande and Hirsch would have been more successful publishing an academic analysis of both works and comparing them, rather than performing a play.

Show Ho
reviewed by Kelly McAllister

Sara Moore is the kind of person who makes you want to run away and join the circus. And not just any circus, but the one she belongs to; because she is a funny, intelligent, highly talented clown with a heart of gold. Her one-woman show, Show Ho, chronicles her adventures in a two-bit circus in a compact hour full of song, adventure, and heartache.

The show starts with a bit of clowning set to two contrasting pieces of music, and then goes to fairly straight narrative for the rest of the performance. We are treated to Moore portraying a wide variety of characters—from her grandmother, a former soothsayer who sings a fantastic song about how all the fun people in this world are dead, to the head clown of the circus, to Truly, the gay man she meets and falls in love with while working the many roads of circus life. We watch her go from rookie clown to full-fledged member of a very tight-knit group. And we see her lose a great love to the scourge of AIDS. Through it all, Moore is the consummate performer, never lingering too long on tragedy or comedy to bore us, always entertaining us—even when we are crying.

Show Ho comes to FringeNYC by way of San Francisco’s renowned Theatre Rhinoceros, where it had a sold-old run. The show should appeal to anyone who ever felt odd, different, and secretly brilliant—it certainly appealed to me. It has has been described as comic Kung Fu, and I’d say that’s a pretty good analogy. Indeed, it’s a black belt/samurai warrior, ready to take out any and all obstacles to laughter and reflection.

What I really enjoyed about the show was the deft way Moore moved between the more comic side of show business and the darker side. She introduces us to a menagerie of freaks and geeks who make us laugh, and then with a gesture, a glance, or a tightened smile, she lets each of the characters’ humanity and dignity peek out from behind their masks. John Fisher directs the show at a quick pace, making just the right use of props and costume to convey changes in time and place. The music by Marc Ream is fantastic—the aforementioned song by the soothsayer grandma is the best musical number I have seen at the Fringe this summer. The theatre is small, so get there early and make sure you have a good seat. You don’t want to miss anything.

girl
reviewed by Kim Kefgen

girl is described as “a trilogy of poetic monologues based upon the Greek myths of Persephone, Icarus, and Leda. Three young women struggle with sex, drugs and self destruction... ” Entering the theatre, I worried that "poetic" would mean "inaccessible," “based upon Greek myths” would mean "pretentious," and “sex, drugs and self destruction” would translate as “after school special.” I’m happy to say my worry was for nothing. girl is an engaging, funny, and honest portrayal of three young women facing life changing events.

Megan Mostyn-Brown’s dialogue captures the rhythms of her characters’ adolescent, self-conscious speech. Very occasionally it feels forced and affected, and the middle monologue utilizes some overlapping dialogue that was a bit confusing and ineffective, but throughout most of the play, I really enjoyed the writing. The monologues are performed with certainty by three very fine actors (Jennifer Lauren Grant, Alexis Croucher, and Diane Landers) who could not possibly be as young as they seemed. I was thrilled to see such consistently strong work from these three women.

A challenge of the “sex, drugs and self destruction” theme is not only the artist’s temptation to overdramatize but also a New York audience’s tendency to disparage. Immersed in everything from indulgent one-woman shows on stage to Lifetime movies and reality shows on TV, we roll our eyes and groan when we hear about yet another play about incest, eating disorders, addiction, etc. The characters in girl share our cynicism. They acknowledge that they are living a movie of the week. They fight hard to find a response to their pain that isn’t clichéd. They are honest.

So if you're thinking of writing off girl for fear it will be just another victim play, please reconsider. It’s funny and touching and showcases some very fine writing and acting talent. (If you are excited to see a modern day retelling of Persephone, Icarus, or Leda, skip it— I’m no Greek scholar, but I think the connections are tenuous at best, and possibly non-existent.) But if you’re into good, simple character portraits, girl is a great choice, and for me, a pleasant surprise.

How to Save the World and Find True Love--in 90 Minutes
reviewed by Kim Kefgen

How to Save the World and Find True Love in 90 Minutes feels like one of those auditions where Broadway talent is recruited to help “sell” a show to financial backers. The singer/actors are great; the production values are simple but clever; the house is full. Unfortunately, in this case the material (book and lyrics by Jonathan Karp, music by Seth Weinstein) falls flat.

Miles Muldoon (played by Michael McEachran), a timid underachiever who works as a tour guide at the United Nations, has a crush on diplomat Violet Zipper (Nicole Ruth Snelson) and pals around with Julie Lemmon (Anika Larsen), the bookstore clerk who is secretly in love with him. Violet is cold, blond and calculating; Julie is cute, quirky, and wears pigtails. When Miles tries to impress Violet by speaking to a group of protesting Guatemalan melon farmers, he is pelted with melons. When he awakes, he discovers that he can hear what people are thinking. (Sometimes we can, too, while sometimes we just have to take his word for it.) In the end, Miles gets to be a hero and have his choice of women, and he’s grown up so much that he picks the one who says that love is being open over the one who says love is a negotiation.

How to Save... is a screwball comedy that isn’t funny. The only time I laughed was at a sight gag late in the performance and that was too little too late. Now I know that musical comedy rarely intends to be Shakespeare, but I was bored and slightly embarrassed. The plot is predictable, the dialogue is bland, and the attempts to be clever or edgy seem contrived. To be fair, I think a lot of effort went into the creation of this show. And the rest of the audience was enthused and responded with laughter and applause, and that puzzled me. Maybe I didn’t get it.

The performers are quite good with strong voices and amazing commitment. McEachran really works up there, onstage 99% of the time, and he never misses a beat. He proves himself a versatile and interesting actor/singer, and this is a good showcase for him. Larsen imbues her character with spunk and Snelson works hard to give Violet some dimension. I also really liked the Greek Chorus (Trent Armand Kendall, Dorrey Lin Lyles, and Rob Sapp), who play everyone from the melon farmers to the Greek cooks in the UN cafeteria to the Secret Service.

This is a polished show with good talent on stage. If you’re willing to spend an hour and a half watching them sing and be silly, it won’t hurt you. But if you’re hoping to see the next original, groundbreaking musical, I’m afraid you must look elsewhere.

4 Minutes to Happy
reviewed by Maggie Bell

We live in a time of instant solutions to our problems. If we feel depressed, there's probably a pill to fix it; if we don’t want to talk, we can hide behind email or cell phone voicemail. When we slow down to really listen to how someone is feeling, we might just be reminded of our own vulnerabilities: can’t have that.

This is the feeling behind 4 Minutes to Happy, a one-woman play written and performed by Sarah Morton and directed by Randy Rollison. Morton boldly explores her journey with depression, how it has affected her world and her loved ones, and how she has come through it to this day. Self-testimony can be difficult to pull off, as it sometimes reeks of using theatre as therapy. However, Morton approaches her story from an honest place, allowing us to see her vulnerability. The story begins with Morton out on a date, and it is very amusing to watch her staring blankly through this enervating experience. But when her date informs her that he can recite Shakespeare backwards, something in this odd admission appeal to her; and she feels alive again for the moment.

We learn that this is a pattern for Morton, as she grapples with understanding what is wrong with her. At the doctor’s, Morton fills out a survey of her personality, hoping for an answer. She is diagnosed as clinically depressed—a general term that could apply to more specific symptoms. She portrays the nurse—a very funny stereotype of the sterile personalities in medical professions; she looks judgmentally at her patient/self and prescribes herself  Zoloft. We feel real empathy for Morton: she doesn't want to take the Zoloft; she just wants to find help.

As Morton portrays other people in her life, she shows us her ample talent for physical comedy. Expressing her feeling of disconnection with the world, she holds moments for what feels like too long, but she really lets these moments go all the way through her, and we get the feeling that this is how Morton sees the world while she is on medication—a numb sense. It is intriguing to watch. Morton’s statement that she is “frustrated with not being able to perfectly verbalize being sad” is particularly touching, and is the theme of her show.

4 Minutes to Happy is a revealing look of one person’s bravery to overcome depression without the crutch of medication. Morton shows us that we can really look at ourselves without hating what we see, and learn to love what is there.

Lulu
reviewed by Maggie Cino

Louise Brooks was rediscovered over twenty years ago and the world is still obsessed. Her great role was Lulu in the 1929 film Pandora’s Box, directed by G.W. Pabst, based on plays by Franz Wedekind. She was the first alterna-babe, the first SuicideGirl. And the world is still seduced by her.

Adam Gwon and Courtney Phelps, under the spell of Louise Brooks, have co-written Lulu, an adaptation of the Wedekind plays. They have attempted to turn German Expressionism into musical comedy, with indifferent results. Even at the end, Lulu doesn’t face death at the hands of Jack the Ripper, as in Wedekind's original, but walks away with her lover. She is never in danger, and so we never care.

Brooke Sunny Moriber, who would make a wonderful Marion in The Music Man, is out of her depth as Lulu. In fact, it is hard to tell how much the director came to her aid—there is no character development or emotional arc for anyone. The actors enter from chairs placed in rows facing backwards at the extreme ends of the stage, stand in place, speak or sing, and return. It is either a concert reading or a Brechtian experiment. However, distancing devices are superfluous here, since there's not enough at stake in the play to engender the audience's emotional involvement.

I found the music to be unmemorable and the lyrics somewhat pedestrian (lots or rhyming couplets like "me" and "be" or "heart" and "part").

I am willing to conclude, though, that it is possible that the problem here is too much thought, not too little. A love for the original source material, an obsession with Louise Brooks, and a desire to make new music may have proved overwhelming—I think that perhaps the authors might need the emotional distance they tried so hard to give their audience.

Precipice
reviewed by Gyda Arber

Precipice combines two one-act plays into one evening of theatre. The first takes place in a Palestinian compound and features a dialogue between an advisor to Yassir Arafat and an American Jewish human rights worker, held there against her will. The second play tells the story of an 18-year-old girl who has asked for assistance in committing suicide on the day before September 11.

Playwright David Mikhail clearly has some good ideas and seems to be saying something about terrorism and the death of innocence that occurred on Sept 10, 2001. The dark, dramatic, second story is more engaging than the first,  but both pieces were somewhat confusing—some additional work on the script would surely help make things clearer.

The actors do good work, especially Jessica Jolly as the suicidal teenager and Andrew Thacher as “C,” the man she’s called upon to assist her. The director of the second piece, Joseph Vega, manages the dramatic tension very well, but the pacing of the first piece, directed by Rodney E. Reyes, seemed off, and the relationship between the actors was unclear.

It’s good to see, among all the polished shows this year involving people with Broadway credits, that FringeNYC, in the case of Precipice, is still fulfilling one of its original goals: allowing young artists to experiment with the art form, learning as they perform. I look forward to seeing more from David Mikhail and the other artists involved in this interesting show as they develop and refine their skills.

Love Pollution: A TeknoPopera
reviewed by Jonathan Warman

Nomenil Theater Company, an avant-pop theatre troupe from Chicago, takes me back to my theatrical roots. I started my professional theatre career as the lead male actor in a feminist avant-garde theatre company in mid-'80s Omaha. We did highly conceptual, plotless musicals that combined punk and techno-pop.

Love Pollution, Nomenil’s “tekno popera” takes me back for several reasons, some good, some not so good. Christopher Powers’ score, as delivered by the show's energetic cast, isn’t the hardcore techno that dominated '90s dance; instead it’s old-school electro-techno that’s more Fad Gadget primitivism than Fischerspooner buzz-clash. It’s an interesting vocabulary to bring to the musical theatre, and many of the numbers are memorable and effective. The look of the show, all bright colors and slashed garments, is every bit as retro-80s as the music. These external elements are for me pleasantly nostalgic.

The downside: Much of the book (co-written by Allen Conkle and Courtney Evans) is written in the highly poetic, arch style that dominates avant-garde playwriting from Antoinin Artaud to Mac Wellman. The shows I did in Omaha had a lot of this portentous doggerel in them—I’ve never been convinced that this stuff has any place in the theatre. It’s not evocative, it doesn’t deepen the art in any way that’s innately theatrical. The episodic story of the misadventures of a fleshy robot is already a thematically confusing tangle, and overlaying this with opaque dialogue really tries one’s patience.

There is another voice at work here (perhaps because the piece has two authors?), one that’s friskily queer, camp, and crystal clear, but also capable of conveying the heart of the show’s message in a grippingly direct monologue delivered by a blind pauper. When this voice dominates, I can see the show’s truly subversive potential, potential that is not realized by Love Pollution in its current form.

Angry Young Teen-Age Girl Gang
reviewed by Maggie Cino

Angry Young Teen-Age Girl Gang has twists, turns, misplaced love, sex, drugs, incest, and forced prostitution. There are false identities, there are fallen nuns and naughty doctors, and there are even a couple of really good songs.

The setting is the 1950s. The basic plot is that Didi (Rebecca Marcotte), a "clean teen" with scholarly ambitions, is orphaned and sent to live with an indifferent aunt and a licentious uncle. One night her uncle tries to seduce her and her boyfriend proves a wimp, so she ends up hanging out with a bad seed named Reggie (Tamara Zook). Reggie gets into a hit-and-run accident and abandons Didi in the car. The police find her in there along with a bag of heroin, but Didi won't talk, so she’s sent to a prison for juvenile girls. Once she gets there, antics involving her fellow inmates, a nun, a warden, and the head of the prison ensue.

While all of this makes for an engaging two hours, a casting choice puts a ponderous twist on this fun and fast moving musical. Women play all the juvenile roles, while men play all of the adult roles. Hence it is impossible to avoid the Theme: women are imprisoned by men and need to break free and be themselves.

Happily, the actors all play their cross-gendered roles with truth and gusto. The acting, dancing, and singing are not polished, but everyone on stage is having such a good time it’s easy to enjoy the ride. And it's the actors’ belief in their parts that creates something interesting. They don't play for camp, so the outrageousness inherent in the script and the casting is often secondary to the character’s relationships. Hence, the play manages to create a world where gender is fluid and you never know who might fall in love.

Angry Young Teen-Age Girl Gang may not forever alter your views on male and female dynamics, but the absorbing plot, sexy themes, and enthusiastic cast make it two hours well-spent.

Valiant
reviewed by Tim Cusack

As fate would have it, I ended up seeing Valiant, a new play by Lanna Joffrey, the night before what may very well turn out to be the largest single demonstration against the policies of a wartime administration in the history of the United States. The piece is composed of interviews conducted by Sally Heyton-Keeva for her book Valiant Women in War and Exile. These women are survivors of conflicts representing a wide range of geographical areas and time periods: from Armenian Turkey during World War I to El Salvador and Afghanistan in the Reagan era. Some were victims, others were soldiers, while still others witnesses to the after-effects of war’s indiscriminate carnage. As these women from diverse cultures and economic classes recite a brutal litany of humiliations, assassinations, rapes, unspeakable tortures, and bodily desecrations, the nightmare history of twentieth-century inhumanity is resurrected at the Greenwich Street Theatre.

While all of this is undeniably important, especially in the current political climate, ultimately Joffrey falls into a trap with the material: It’s much too easy for me as an American to sit in the theatre and hear stories from places like Auschwitz or Belfast. U.S. culpability in those crimes is tangential or nonexistent, and this distance permits me to sympathize with the onstage women without having to examine my own past. (She does include a Japanese-American woman interned during World War II, but in this context, her story, while an injustice, can’t compete with the atrocities.) Furthermore, nothing is really dramatized, and because of this, very little of the event connects at a visceral level. I found my attention wandering as yet one more cruelty was revisited, surely the opposite of Joffrey’s intention.

The one exception to this is the last testimonial of the evening, offered by a woman grotesquely disfigured in the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Here an American audience is forced to confront an event for which we bear responsibility. Powerfully yet simply recounted by Sharahn LaRue, this woman’s story serves as a rebuke to an official culture that continues to insist that dropping hydrogen bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was justified. That this woman has forgiven the United States for what it did to her and chooses to focus on love for all humanity is profoundly moving.

Director Tamilla Woodard gets uniformly excellent performances out of her four primary actresses, but special praise goes to the intense focus that Tami Dixon brings to each of her characterizations. Woodard’s production begins promisingly, but her repeated use of live computer keyboard typing to introduce each segment soon bogs down the evening. One wishes both she and Joffrey had found a more urgent and less reassuring container for their message. Even liberals like me have to get shaken up to change the course we’re on.